


we are full of stories to be told

by only_because3



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 23:41:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1112884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/only_because3/pseuds/only_because3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She meant it when she told Santana that having sex together was a one time thing.</p>
<p>Life just seems to have a habit of turning Quinn Fabray into a liar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we are full of stories to be told

**Author's Note:**

> This is to fill a prompt for the Faberrycon fic fundraiser but it started first because my lady (amaltheaz) and I wanted to write a story together! And because we multishop like crazy, there's a bunch of couples in this! I'm not sure how long this story is going to be but this bit is setting up most of what we're gonna get to in this story. Very Quinn centric for now! Set after when Quinntana boned in S4. Enjoy!

She meant it when she told Santana that having sex together was a one time thing.  
  
Life just seems to have a habit of turning Quinn Fabray into a liar.  
  
Santana’s nails are longer than they were at the not wedding (then, they’d been freshly manicured and cut to the quick). It’s not so much that it hurts in a _bad_ way or anything but Quinn knows without looking that her body will be covered in angry red scratches, deep crescents, and bruises that will fade from purple to yellow where Santana uses her teeth. “Quit marking me,” Quinn bites out and she feels Santana laugh against her belly.  
  
“You just don’t want any reminders of this tomorrow,” Santana says, digging her short nails into the swell of Quinn’s breasts and dragging them down over painfully hard nipples, only relenting when her hands reach hip bones. “Helps your special Fabray memory loss.” A tongue darts out just below her belly button and Quinn’s fingers tangle in thick black hair, gripping tight at silky strands as she pushes Santana’s head down. Her eagerness makes Santana laugh again and shake her head. “Who knew Quinn Fabray would be so eager to have another girl eat her out?” Santana’s breath hit’s the sensitive wet heat between Quinn’s thighs, causing Quinn to shiver even though she’s sweating.  
  
The first broad stroke of Santana’s tongue along her cunt has Quinn’s toes curling.  
  
\--  
  
Quinn pops up on Judy's computer screen, a little blurry, but the noise that filters through (soft music Judy recognizes from her own youth) has her realizing that Quinn’s definitely there. “Hi, Mom.”  
  
Judy smiles and waves, though she knows it’s a little silly that she does. “How were your classes,” she asks, settling in her computer chair as Quinn begins relaying things that have happened in class since the two talked last Wednesday.  
  
Judy knows that she's lucky Quinn gives her these evenings. Though Quinn has never cut Judy out of her life (has kept Judy as well in the loop as any teenage girl would allow her mother), she knows Quinn has every right to. Quinn has right to be angry with her, disappointed, to hate her. Instead, from the moment Judy brought her back home (after her own baby had a baby), Quinn has only told Judy that she loves her.  
  
Judy shouldn’t be surprised that she raised a much too forgiving daughter.  
  
In the middle of telling Judy about her Brit lit class, Quinn looks off screen, her face shifting and scrunching. There’s another voice Judy can’t place but she can't hear much of it before Quinn shoos the person away. “Sorry,” Quinn says, pulling her hair over her shoulder. Judy thinks she notices something on Quinn's neck just before blonde strands hide it but lights can play tricks and her daughter is slightly pixelled. Judy lets the thought leave her head as quickly as it entered.  
  
“Roommate?”  
  
Quinn shakes her head. “No. Santana dropped in for an impromptu and ill placed weekend.” Her words are slightly clipped and Judy's curiosity is peaked, but her years with Russell leave Judy frightened in inaction.  
  
She clears her throat when Quinn doesn’t give anymore information. “How are you managing with your roommates?” Judy was weary of letting Quinn rent a room off campus rather than living in the dorms. Judy met them all, all students at Yale, and they’re nice but Judy's only spent 30 minutes with them total, has only been greeted with attitudes fit for a parent. Quinn has never spoken ill of them, has barely been irritated, but Judy wishes Quinn had the protection that dorms offer.  
  
Judy would have stood firm on Quinn moving into the dorms but then Quinn said that she was tired of sharing bedrooms with people she barely knows. It was then that Judy realized (or maybe she remembered) that Quinn can protect herself more than Judy could ever protect her.  
  
\--  
  
Santana sits naked on Quinn’s bed, her legs draped over the edge and Quinn stretches out behind her, her feet curling around the edge of the mattress. “What happened to this being a one time thing,” Santana asks over her shoulder.  
  
Santana pushes her tangled hair back as Quinn moves the pillow away from her face so Santana will be able to hear her. “You’re the one who showed up, unannounced, at my place.”  
  
“Yeah, because I need a place to crash, not because I wanted a booty call,” Santana returns. Now that Santana knows Quinn’s body so intimately, she’s brave enough to deliver a swift slap to Quinn’s bare ass. Quinn jumps, pushing herself on to her elbows as Santana stands and crosses the room to where she threw down her luggage. Before Quinn can begin to let her indignation known, Santana looks her straight in the eye. “Don’t try to act like you didn’t like that. You had no problem with that when you were sitting on my face.”  
  
Quinn wrinkles her nose. “You’re so vulgar.”  
  
Santana steps into a fresh pair of underwear. “Says the girl who sat on my face.” Quinn rolls her eyes, finally pushing herself up. “Seriously though, are we banging on a semi regular basis? Are you just going through extended experimentation or…” Santana leaves the question hanging as she pulls Quinn’s YALE sweatshirt over her head. “Not that I’m complaining about free pussy,” she adds when her head pops out. “I just can not go through that bullshit of not being on the same page again.”  
  
Quinn becomes suddenly aware that she’s the only one naked now. It’s strange, because for most of her life, Quinn has been ashamed of her body, eager to cover the parts she doesn’t like. Glee dressings rooms and locker rooms were harder on her than she thinks anyone realized, especially when changing next to Santana and Brittany. Yet here she is, strangely comfortable in her nudity even though the eyes of a girl with a superior body are trained on her. These roles somehow became reversed and it makes her shiver, an uncomfortable shift taking place inside of her.  
  
“Q?”  
  
She sighs and looks at the clock. “Are you hungry?”  
  
Santana just blinks back at her before her face scrunches. “I could eat,” she answers wearily. Quinn nods and gets up, pulls a knit dress out of her closet and over her head before grabbing underwear from her dresser. “I just hope you realize we’ll be talking about your budding homosexuality in public then.”  
  
Quinn turns as she’s trying to shove her foot into her boot. “I’m not-” Santana fixes her with a look, one that feels punctuated by the way Santana pulls up her jeans. She lets her weight rest unevenly, her other boot hanging in her hand. “I don’t know,” she breathes out. “I don’t know a lot of things.”  
  
Santana’s lips tremble like they’re unsure whether they should smile or frown.  
  
\--  
  
They sit across from each other at this falafel place she goes to occasionally with her roommates. While they’re waiting for their food, Santana finally relays the story of why she’s here. Quinn learns more about Kurt and Rachel’s life in New York than from the emails she exchanges with Rachel.  
  
“It’s so shitty because like, I think I consider Rachel an actual _friend_ now, and she kicks me out.” Santana shakes her head and takes a long gulp of water. “Have you ever noticed that that girl will never accept help from us?”  
  
Quinn quirks an eyebrow, perches her chin in her hand. “Can you blame her? We spent the better part of two years bullying her. Remember when we convinced her to hire that dance instructor?”  
  
Santana waves that off as their food is plopped down in front of them. “Please. Before we graduated, Rachel gave me a picture of herself. It was one of _the_ gayest moments I had in high school and that’s saying something.” Quinn smiles in thanks at their waiter, who obviously tries not to show any sort of response to what Santana’s saying. “She’s just too fucking stubborn.” Santana swirls her spoon in her lentil soup. “Actually,” she reconsiders, “I think she’s too trusting.” That makes more sense and Quinn finds herself nodding as she bites into her pita. “But then she should actually listen to us.”  
  
Quinn sighs. “Even if she’s over us tormenting her, it doesn’t necessarily make it easier for her to trust us.” Her tongue darts out to lick away some of the sauce before she wipes her mouth with her napkin. “I have to say, I can see why she kicked you out.”  
  
She’s kicked in the shin as Santana glares at her. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”  
  
“I’m letting you sleep in my bed for however long you need it,” Quinn points out. “Isn’t that enough?”  
  
Quinn’s expecting another retort but nothing comes. Santana is just staring at her with that half bitchy, half caring face that’s become a staple for the other girl since she came out and became comfortable in her own skin. Quinn shifts under the gaze. She still hasn’t made heads or tails of this new softness in Santana. It suites her, surprisingly, but Quinn knows that without a 24/7 bitchface, life can knock you down lower than you thought possible. To Quinn, finding herself doesn’t seem worth it anymore, not with what’s already been thrown at her .  
  
She doesn’t have much of an appetite anymore.  
  
“Are you bi,” Santana finally asks. That wasn’t the question she was expecting and it must show on her face because Santana leans back in her chair with a small shrug. “We haven’t talked enough for me to totally discredit all the boys you’ve been with and, fuck, I’ve talked to you and Puck enough to know that whatever that was, was real.”  
  
Quinn glances around the restaurant. No one is paying any attention to them but it still feels like there’s a million eyes on her. “I thought we were done with this,” she hisses. She grabs her napkin and balls it in her fist when her palms start to sweat. “I told you I don’t know and I meant it.”  
  
Santana takes another bite of her soup, putting her free hand up as a way of telling Quinn to calm down. If Quinn weren’t so scared of this impending conversation, it’d make her angrier. “Do you want to ignore what it means for a bit?”  
  
“Why does it have to mean anything?”  
  
Santana shakes her head like what Quinn just said completely disappointed her. “Stupid isn’t a good look for you, Q.” Santana uses the spoon still in her hand to motion between them. “This, if you want to continue fucking, doesn’t have to mean shit. Obviously Britt’s not a good example, but I do know how to fuck someone and only want to be their friend afterwards.” The spoon returns to the bowl, swirling the broth around. “But you know that liking girls means something, Quinn. It really shouldn’t, but it does. Especially when you come from families like ours.”  
  
Quinn doesn’t say anything. She knows Santana’s right but… She’s just so tired of everything. It just seems like one thing after another, each one worse than the last, and no reprieve in between. For once, she just wants to _be_ for a little while.  
  
She pokes at her plate and doesn’t look up until Santana’s spoon hits the bowl loudly. “You’re entitled to some carefree time.” Quinn blinks, a shiver running through her. “And I’m not suggesting you go balls out and, like, buy Doc Martens and march in a pride parade. But come summer break, I think it’d help if you at least talked to me.” Quinn swallows hard when Santana’s face softens completely. “Going through this shit sucks and I know I would’ve probably not been such a fantasticunt if I had someone who understood.” Santana pauses just for a second, her eyes glancing to Quinn’s clenched fists. “I’m here for you, Quinn.” She doesn’t trust herself to say anything, not sure what she would say anyway, so Quinn just nods. “I won’t pry until summer, okay?”  
  
“Okay,” Quinn breathes out, the tightness in her chest fading just a little bit.  
  
\--  
  
Two days later, Santana wakes up to her phone vibrating on Quinn’s nightstand. Quinn buries her face in Santana’s side (it still trips Santana out how low Quinn sleeps on the bed) and growls, “Shut it off… This is one of two days I can actually sleep in.” Before Santana even thinks about lifting an arm, the phone goes silent and she sinks back into the mattress, ready to go back to sleep.  
  
Naturally, it starts going off again and, god, she totally forgot how bitchy Quinn can be in the morning.  
  
Quinn digs her elbow into Santana’s back as she grabs the phone herself. “It is 7:30, _what_?” Santana can hear Rachel squawk out Quinn’s name before asking if she called the right number. “Do you not know how to text,” Quinn asks instead of answering the question.  
  
Rachel’s actually sent her a handful of texts ever since Santana left New York but Santana didn’t think Rachel deserved to know that she was alive when Rachel was the one to give her the boot.  
  
Rachel must say something else because Quinn angrily groans as she drops the phone on Santana’s head. “You owe me coffee,” Quinn states. There’s a noticeable drop in her voice when she adds, “And you’re eating me out before we get up from bed.”  
  
Santana smirks as she twists around to grab the phone. “What, Berry?”  
  
Rachel sighs. “I’m sorry for trying to make sure you’re still alive and not dead on the street or sold into sex slavery.”  
  
“Why do you even care,” Santana counters. “You didn’t ask if I had a place to stay before you kicked me out.”  
  
“That is not how it went down and you know it, Santana.”  
  
There are a thousand different ways Santana can respond to that but it’s early. “What do you want, Rachel,” Santana tries again and Rachel clears her throat.  
  
“I’m calling because I would like you to come back.”  
  
“Is that offer accompanied by an apology?”  
  
Rachel sighs like this is literally the worst thing Santana could’ve suggested before saying quietly, “I’m sorry for not more carefully regarding your opinions of Brody and thus asking you to leave the loft. You’ve always been a respectable judge of character and it was silly to think this time was any different.”  
  
It’s definitely more than what Santana was expecting and she finds herself smiling a little (though Quinn is also touching her boobs. She’s not sure why but-). “Apology accepted, short stack.” Rachel lets out a huff as Santana bats one of Quinn’s hands out of the way, instead taking Quinn’s pebbled nipple between her fingers. “I’ll probably be back Monday.”  
  
Quinn looks at her, eyes heavy with sleep and arousal, nodding when Santana arches an eyebrow in question. She knows that her and Quinn are friends now, but she doesn’t doubt the only reason Quinn’s so okay with her staying a few more days is because she wants to keep having sex.  
  
“Are you enjoying your time with Quinn,” Rachel asks before seemingly catching herself. “Nevermind. Go back to sleep. We can catch up when you come back home. Enjoy yourself, Santana.”  
  
After Rachel ends the call, Santana lets her phone fall to the floor as Quinn props her head up. “Finally. I was beginning to think you’d never leave,” she teases through a yawn.  
  
Santana swats her stomach. “Shut up. I’ve been here three days and I’ve gotten you off at least once everyday. This is the best experience you’ve ever had sharing a room with someone.” Quinn rolls her eyes and flops back down on the bed. “You gonna fade back into the New Haven mist when I leave again?”  
  
Quinn looks at her like she’s crazy. “What do you mean?”  
  
Now it’s Santana’s turn to roll her eyes. “Not to be a clingy girl, but I didn’t even get a text from you after we left the hotel.”  
  
Quinn’s eyebrows shoot up to her hair line before immediately furrowing. “Are you really upset that I didn’t call you after we fucked?”  
  
    There’s a hint of laughter in her voice which just makes Santana glare and kick Quinn in the shin. “I’m upset because my _friend_ totally fucking ignored me,” Santana says pointedly. Quinn’s face relaxes and Santana softly arches an eyebrow. “We _are_ friends, right?”  
  
Now Quinn nudges Santana’s leg with her foot. “Of course,” she breathes out with a nod. “Of course… Even if I don’t always show it.”  
  
“I guess I can’t blame you. Realizing you like pussy is a pretty big mindfuck.” Santana ruffles Quinn’s hair, laughing when Quinn starts cursing at her.  
  
\--  
  
Quinn pulls off her glasses and lets them drop on top of her art history book. This is the second time she’s read through the text for the upcoming week and it’s only Friday. She’s exhausted but the alternative…  
  
Her phone starts vibrating wildly on her desk. “Hello,” she answers as she rubs the space between her eyebrows.  
  
“Qu-inn,” Santana sing-songs and Quinn isn’t sure if she should laugh or be irritated.  
  
“Should I be honored that I’m your drunk dial?” She spins in her chair, closing her eyes and focusing on the muffled background noise on Santana’s end.  
  
“You should be honored I’m your friend,” Santana asserts. “What are you doing?”  
  
Quinn plants her feet on floor and then casts a weary glance at her textbooks. “Studying.”  
  
“Jesus christ, Q, it’s Friday night and you’re in college.”  
  
Quinn smirks. “I’ve read all my texts twice,” she says, running a hand through her hair. “You know I don’t care for people. They’re all idiots. I’d rather revise my paper again.”  
  
“ _Again_?”  
  
Quinn nods, even though she knows Santana can’t see her. “I’ve already revised it three times.”  
  
Santana snorts. “God, you are such a _nerd_.” Quinn lets out an indignant huff right as Santana wails, “Come visit me!”  
  
Quinn pulls herself up from her chair. “I can’t just drop things, Santana. I do have school.”  
  
“Dude, you just told me that you’ve already done all your shit,” Santana points out. “Come have fun with me for the weekend!” Quinn groans as she passes through the halls, ignoring the look Jeff gives her. “Oh, like it’s such a chore for you to come down to New York. You already know you have a seat on my face if you want it.”  
  
Quinn can feel her face warm up even though she’s peering inside the fridge. “That certainly is tempting,” she responds as neutrally as she can, only for Santana to let out a laugh.  
  
“I know how well I eat pussy and two weeks of going without means it is more than tempting,” Santana asserts. “Unless you’ve been boning someone else in which case, I’m upset that you didn’t tell me.”  
  
“No, no,” Quinn says as she pours herself a bowl of cereal. “Just you, unfortunately.”  
  
“Bitch,” Santana says and Quinn can hear the smile in her voice. “Seriously, come to New York. We can do cheesy touristy shit if you want.”  
  
“Is it that awkward in the loft that you’re practically begging me to come,” Quinn asks before quickly adding, “Shut up and stop laughing or I _will_ make you beg next time.”  
  
“Yeah, like you’d top me.”  
  
“Don’t test me,” Quinn says, tossing the milk back in the fridge.  
  
“Come to New York and prove me wrong.”  
  
Quinn leans against the fridge and sighs before repeating, “Is it awkward in the loft?” She munches on her cereal as Santana fills her in on all the details Santana hasn’t given her since she went back to New York. It’s not that they haven’t talked, it’s just that they don’t actually talk much about their day to day stuff. Mainly, they talk about Santana’s jobs and the bitch in Quinn’s Brit Lit class. Apparently, Brody is gone and Rachel has been licking Santana’s ass, Santana’s words obviously, since Santana came back. As such, Rachel has been overwhelming when Santana’s home and Quinn would be the best buffer ever.  
  
So with the last bite of her cereal, she sighs out, “Okay. I’ll look up times now.”  
  
She thinks she hears Santana exhale yes but it’s quickly over masked by Santana shouting excitedly, “I am going to make you come _so hard_ for this!”  
  
\--  
  
Early mornings have never bothered Quinn. She’s always been somewhat of a natural early riser but with Cheerios and her pregnancy, she’s lucky now if she sleeps in past 6.  
  
That’s why she’s getting on the train just before 7 in the morning.  
  
And, well, maybe she’s just a little bit eager to have Santana fulfill her promise.  
  
She sinks down heavily in her seat, squeezing her eyes shut. She doesn’t want to think about what that means. It’s why she’s been diving head first in to anything that will keep her mind occupied. She digs around in her bag before unzipping her duffle. “Great,” she grumbles when she realizes that she left her book at home.  
  
Her relationship with God is tentative at this point in her life but it is at times like this that she believes he likes playing with her like she enjoyed playing with Barbies.  
  
Quinn hates pity, especially those who pity themselves, but for fuck’s sake, she would love to have sex just once without it leading to a complete breakdown of the person she was. Sex with Puck left her without a father and with a baby that she knew she couldn’t keep. Sex with Santana… Quinn’s phone buzzes in her pocket and, of course. The only other person she knows who would be up at this time is her mother. “Hey, Mom.”  
  
Her mother’s voice is warm. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”  
  
“No, no. What’s up?”  
  
“Your sister gave birth about twenty minutes ago.” There’s a change in her voice, like Judy’s unsure if she’s allowed to be happy about this to Quinn and it makes Quinn’s chest tighten uncomfortably.  
  
Quinn forces out, “Goodness,” so that her mom doesn’t think she’s lost her. She takes a deep breath and squeezes her eyes shut. “Is she okay?”  
  
“Both her and little Aiden are doing just fine.”  
  
“A boy then,” Quinn asks and for some reason, that lets her relax just a little. “How big is he? He was a few days over due, right?”  
  
Judy allows herself to start gushing a little bit more. She lists the baby’s weight, length, and the duration of Paige’s labor (which was much longer than Quinn’s was and Quinn starts to wonder about Judy’s pregnancies). She sounds so happy and it very abruptly hits Quinn that she’s broken her mother’s heart so many times already that even if Quinn were gay, she could _never_ tell Judy.


End file.
